[Illustration: SIR HENRY HAWKINS AND "JACK." _Photo by Elliot & Fry_.]
THE
REMINISCENCES
OF
SIR HENRY HAWKINS
(BARON BRAMPTON)
EDITED BY
RICHARD HARRIS, K.C.
PREFACE.
As a preface I wish to say only a very few words--namely, that but for
the great pressure put upon me I should not have ventured to write,
or allowed to be published, any reminiscences of mine, being very
conscious that I could not offer to the public any words of my own
that would be worth the time it would occupy to read them; but the
whole merit of this volume is due to my very old friend Richard
Harris, K.C., who has already shown, by his skill and marvellously
attractive composition in reproducing my efforts in the Tichborne
case, what interest may be imparted to an otherwise very dry subject.
In that work[A] he has done me much more than justice, and for this I
thank him, with many good wishes for the success of this his new work,
and with many thanks to those of the public who may take and feel an
interest in such of my imperfect reminiscences as are here recorded.
BRAMPTON.
HARROGATE, _August 17, 1904_.
[Footnote A: "Illustrations in Advocacy" (fourth edition, Stevens and
Haynes).]
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
This volume is the outcome of many conversations with Lord Brampton
and of innumerable manuscript notes from his pen. I have endeavoured,
as far as possible, to present them to the public in such a manner
that, although chronological order has not been strictly adhered to,
it has been, nevertheless, considering the innumerable events of Lord
Brampton's career, carefully observed.
Apocryphal stories are always told of celebrated men, and of no one
more than of Sir Henry Hawkins during his career on the Bench and at
the Bar; but I venture to say that there is no doubtful story in this
volume, and, further, that there is not one which has ever been told
exactly in the same form before. Good stories, like good coin, lose
by circulation. If there should be one or two in these reminiscences
which have lost their image and superscription by much handling, I
hope that the recasting which they have undergone will give them, not
only the brightness of the original mint, but a wider circulation than
they have ever known.
The distinguishing characteristics by which Lord Brampton's stories
may be known I have long been familiar with, and have no hesitation in
saying that one or other, some or all, may be found in every anecdote
that bears the genuine stamp. They are
WIT, HUMOUR, PATHOS, AND TRAGEDY.
My claims in the production of this volume are confined to its
_defects_, although Lord Brampton has been generous enough to
attribute to me a share in its merits.
RICHARD HARRIS.
27 FITZJOHN'S AVENUE,
HAMPSTEAD,
_October_ 6, 1904.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. AT BEDFORD SCHOOL
II. IN MY UNCLE'S OFFICE
III. SECOND YEAR--THESIGER AND PLATT--MY FIRST BRIEF
IV. AT THE OLD BAILEY IN THE OLD TIMES
V. MR. JUSTICE MAULE
VI. AN INCIDENT ON THE ROAD TO NEWMARKET
VII. AN EPISODE AT HERTFORD QUARTER SESSIONS
VIII. A DANGEROUS SITUATION--A CASE OF FORGETFULNESS
IX. THE ONLY "RACER" I EVER OWNED--SAM LINTON, THE DOG-FINDER
X. WHY I GAVE OVER CARD-PLAYING
XI. "CODD'S PUZZLE"
XII. GRAHAM, THE POLITE JUDGE
XIII. GLORIOUS OLD DAYS--THE HON. BOB GRIMSTON, AND MANY
OTHERS--CHICKEN-HAZARD
XIV. PETER RYLAND--THE REV. MR. FAKER AND THE WELSH WILL
XV. TATTERSALL'S--BARON MARTIN, HARRY HILL, AND THE OLD FOX IN THE
YARD
XVI. ARISING OUT OF THE "ORSINI AFFAIR"
XVII. APPOINTED QUEEN'S COUNSEL--A SERIOUS ILLNESS--SAM LEWIS
XVIII. THE PRIZE--FIGHT ON FRIMLEY COMMON
XIX. SAM WARREN, THE AUTHOR OF "TEN THOUSAND A YEAR"
XX. THE BRIGHTON CARD-SHARPING CASE
XXI. THE KNEBWORTH THEATRICAL ENTERTAINMENTS--SIR EDWARD BULWER
LYTTON--CHARLES DICKENS, CHARLES MATHEWS, MACREADY, DOUGLAS JERROLD
XXII. CROCKFORD'S--"HOOKS AND EYES"--DOUGLAS JERROLD
XXIII. ALDERSON, TOMKINS, AND A FREE COUNTRY--A PROBLEM IN HUMAN
NATURE
XXIV. CHARLES MATHEWS--A HARVEST FESTIVAL AT THE VILLAGE CHURCH
XXV. COMPENSATION--NICE CALCULATIONS IN OLD DAYS--EXPERTS--LLOYD AND I
XXVI. ELECTION PETITIONS
XXVII. MY CANDIDATURE FOR BARNSTAPLE
XXVIII. THE TICHBORNE CASE
XXIX. A VISIT TO SHEFFIELD--MRS. HAILSTONE'S DANISH BOARHOUND
XXX. AN EXPERT IN HANDWRITING--"DO YOU KNOW JOE BROWN?"
XXXI. APPOINTED A JUDGE--MY FIRST TRIAL FOR MURDER
XXXII. ON THE MIDLAND CIRCUIT
XXXIII. JACK
XXXIV. TWO TRAGEDIES
XXXV. THE ST. NEOTS CASE
XXXVI. A NIGHT AT NOTTINGHAM
XXXVII. HOW I MET AN INCORRIGIBLE PUNSTER
XXXVIII. THE TILNEY STREET OUTRAGE--"ARE YOU NOT GOING TO PUT ON THE
BLACK CAP, MY LORD?"
XXXIX. SEVERAL SCENES
XL. DR. LAMSON--A CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY--A WILL CASE
XLI. MR.J.L. TOOLE ON THE BENCH
XLII. A FULL MEMBER OF THE JOCKEY CLUB
XLIII. THE LITTLE MOUSE AND THE PRISONER--THE BRUTALITY OF OUR OLD
LAWS
XLIV. THE LAST OF LORD CAMPBELL--WINE AND WATER--SIR THOMAS WILDE
XLV. HOW I CROSS-EXAMINED PRINCE LOUIS NAPOLEON
XLVI. THE NEW LAW ALLOWING THE ACCUSED TO GIVE EVIDENCE--THE CASE OF
DR. WALLACE, THE LAST I TRIED ON CIRCUIT
XLVII. A FAREWELL MEMORY OF JACK
XLVIII. OLD TURF FRIENDS
XLIX. LEAVING THE BENCH--LORD BRAMPTON
L. SENTENCES
LI. CARDINAL MANNING--"OUR CHAPEL"
APPENDIX
THE REMINISCENCES OF SIR HENRY HAWKINS.
(NOW LORD BRAMPTON.)
* * * * *
CHAPTER I.
AT BEDFORD SCHOOL.
My father was a solicitor at Hitchin, and much esteemed in the county
of Hertford. He was also agent for many of the county families, with
whom he was in friendly intercourse. My mother was the daughter of
the respected Clerk of the Peace for Bedfordshire, a position of good
influence, which might be, and is occasionally, of great assistance
to a young man commencing his career at the Bar. To me it was of no
importance whatever.
My father had a large family, sons and daughters, of whom only two are
living. I mention this as an explanation of my early position when
straitened circumstances compelled a most rigid economy. During no
part of my educational career, either at school or in the Inn of Court
to which I belonged, had I anything but a small allowance from my
father. My life at home is as little worth telling as that of any
other in the same social position, and I pass it by, merely stating
that, after proper preparation, I was packed off to Bedford School for
a few years.
My life there would have been an uninteresting blank but for a little
circumstance which will presently be related. It was the custom
then at this very excellent foundation to give mainly a classical
education, and doubtless I attained a very fair proficiency in my
studies. Had I cultivated them, however, with the same assiduity as
I did many of my pursuits in after-life, I might have attained some
eminence as a professor of the dead languages, and arrived at the
dignity of one of the masters of Bedford.
However, if I had any ambition at that time, it was not to become a
professor of dead languages, but to see what I could make of my own.
It is of no interest to any one that I had great numbers of peg-tops
and marbles, or learnt to be a pretty good swimmer in the Ouse. There
was a greater swim prepared for me in after-life, and that is the only
reason for my referring to it.
In the year 1830 Bedford Schoolhouse occupied the whole of one side of
St. Paul's Square, which faced the High Street. From that part of the
building you commanded a view of the square and the beautiful country
around. The sleepy old bridge spanned the still more sleepy river,
over which lay the quiet road leading to the little village of
Willshampstead, and it came along through the old square where the
schoolhouse was.
It was market day in Bedford, and there was the usual concourse of
buyers and sellers, tramps and country people in their Sunday gear;
farmers and their wives, with itinerant venders of every saleable and
unsaleable article from far and near.
I was in the upper schoolroom with another boy, and, looking out of
the window, had an opportunity of watching all that took place for a
considerable space. There was a good deal of merriment to divert our
attention, for there were clowns and merry-andrews passing along the
highroad, with singlestick players, Punch and Judy shows, and other
public amusers. Every one knows that the smallest event in the country
will cause a good deal of excitement, even if it be so small an
occurrence as a runaway horse.
There was, however, no runaway horse to-day; but suddenly a great
silence came over the people, and a sullen gloom that made a great
despondency in my mind without my knowing why. Public solemnity
affects even the youngest of us. At all events, it affected me.
Presently--and deeply is the event impressed on my mind after seventy
years of a busy life, full of almost every conceivable event--I saw,
emerging from a bystreet that led from Bedford Jail, and coming along
through the square and near the window where I was standing, a common
farm cart, drawn by a horse which was led by a labouring man. As I was
above the crowd on the first floor I could see there was a layer of
straw in the cart at the bottom, and above it, tumbled into a rough
heap, as though carelessly thrown in, a quantity of the same; and I
could see also from all the surrounding circumstances, especially the
pallid faces of the crowd, that there was something sad about it all.
The horse moved slowly along, at almost a snail's pace, while behind
walked a poor, sad couple with their heads bowed down, and each with
a hand on the tail-board of the cart. They were evidently overwhelmed
with grief.
Happily we have no such processions now; even Justice itself has been
humanized to some extent, and the law's cruel severity mitigated. The
cart contained the rude shell into which had been laid the body of
this poor man and woman's only son, _a youth of seventeen, hanged that
morning at Bedford Jail for setting fire to a stack of corn_!
He was now being conveyed to the village of Willshampstead, six miles
from Bedford, there to be laid in the little churchyard where in his
childhood he had played. He was the son of very respectable labouring
people of Willshampstead; had been misled into committing what was
more a boyish freak than a crime, and was hanged. That was all the
authorities could do for him, and they did it. This is the remotest
and the saddest reminiscence of my life, and the only sad one I mean
to relate, if I can avoid it.
But years afterwards, when I became a judge, this picture,
photographed on my mind as it was, gave me many a lesson which I
believe was turned to good account on the judicial bench. It was
mainly useful in impressing on my mind the great consideration of the
surrounding circumstances of every crime, the _degree_ of guilt in
the criminal, and the difference in the degrees of the same kind of
offence. About this I shall say something hereafter.
I remained at this school until I had acquired all the learning my
father thought necessary for my future position, as he intended it to
be, and much more than I thought necessary, unless I was to get my
living by teaching Latin and Greek.
In due course I was articled to my worthy uncle, the Clerk of the
Peace, and, had I possessed my present experience, should have known
that it was a diplomatic move of the most profound policy to enable
me, if anything happened to him, to succeed to that important dignity.
Had I been ambitious of wealth, there were other offices which my
uncle held, to the great satisfaction of the county as well as his
own. These would naturally descend to me, and I should have been in a
position of great prominence in the county, with a very respectable
income.
But I hated the drudgery of an attorney's office. In six months I saw
enough of its documentary evidence to convince me that I hated it
from my heart, and that nothing on earth would induce me to become a
solicitor. I took good care, meek as I was, to show this determination
to my friends. It was my only chance of escape. But while remaining
there it was my duty to work, however hateful the task, and I did so.
Even this, to me, most odious business had its advantages in
after-life. I attended one morning with my uncle the Petty Sessions of
Hertford, where, no doubt, I was supposed to enlarge my knowledge
of sessions practice; it certainly did so, for I knew nothing, and
received a lesson, which is not only my earliest recollection, but my
first experience in _Advocacy_.
At this Hertford Petty Sessional Division the chairman was a somewhat
pompous clergyman, but very devoted to his duties. He was strict in
his application of the law when he knew it, but it was fortunate for
some delinquents, although unfortunate for others, that he did not
always possess sufficient knowledge to act independently of his
clerk's opinion, while the clerk's opinion did not always depend upon
his knowledge of law.
An impudent vagabond was brought up before this clergyman charged with
a violent and unprovoked assault on a man in a public-house. He was
said to have gone into the room where the prosecutor was, and to have
taken up his jug of ale and appropriated the contents to his own use
without the owner's consent. The prosecutor, annoyed at the outrage,
rose, and was immediately knocked down by the interloper, and in
falling cut his head.
There was to my untutored mind no defence, but the accused was a
man of remarkable cunning and not a little ingenuity. He knew the
magistrate well, and his special weakness, which was vanity. By his
knowledge the man completely outwitted his adversary, and shifted the
charge from himself on to the prosecutor's shoulders. The curious
thing was he cross-examined the reverend chairman instead of the
witness, which I thought a master-stroke of policy, if not advocacy.
"You know this public-house, sir?" he asked.
The reverend gentleman nodded.
"I put it to yourself, sir, as a gentleman: how would you have liked
it if another man had come to your house and drunk your beer?"
There was no necessity to give an answer to this question. It answered
itself. The reverend gentleman would not have liked it, and, seeing
this, the accused continued,--
"Well, your honour, this here man comes and takes my beer.
"'Halloa, Jack!' I ses, 'no more o' that.'
"'No,' he says, 'there's no more; it's all gone.'
"'Stop a bit," says I; 'that wun't do, nuther.'
"'That wun't do?' he says. 'Wool that do?' and he ups with the jug and
hits me a smack in the mouth, and down I goes clean on the floor; he
then falls atop of me and right on the pot he held in his hand, which
broke with his fall, bein' a earthenware jug, and cuts his head, and
'Sarve him right,' I hopes your honour'll say; and the proof of which
statement is, sir, that there's the cut o' that jug on his forehead
plainly visible for anybody to see at this present moment. Now, sir,
what next? for there's summat else.
"'Jack,' says I, 'I'll summon you for this assault.'
"'Yes,' he says, 'and so'll I; I'll have ee afore his Worship Mr.
Knox.'
"'Afore his Worship Mr. Knox?' says I. 'And why not afore his Worship
the Rev. Mr. Hull? He's the gentleman for my money--a real gentleman
as'll hear reason, and do justice atween man and man.'
"'What!' says Jack, with an oath that I ain't going to repeat afore a
clergyman--'what!' he says, 'a d--d old dromedary like that!'
"'Dromedary, sir,' meaning your worship! Did anybody ever hear such
wile words against a clergyman, let alone a magistrate, sir? And he
then has the cheek to come here and ask you to believe him. 'Old
dromedary!' says he--' a d--d old dromedary.'"
Mr. Hull, the reverend chairman, was naturally very indignant,
not that he minded on his own account, as he said--that was of no
consequence--but a man who could use such foul language was not to be
believed on his oath. He therefore dismissed the summons, and ordered
the prosecutor to pay the costs.
I think both my father and uncle still nursed the idea that I was to
become the good old-fashioned county attorney, for they perpetually
rang in my ears the praises of "our Bench" and "our chairman," out
Bench being by far the biggest thing in Hertfordshire, except when a
couple of notables came down to contest the heavy-weight championship
or some other noble prize.
For myself, I can truly say I had no ambition at this time beyond
earning my bread, for I pretty well knew I had to trust entirely to
my own exertions. The fortunate have many friends, and it is just the
fortunate who are best without them. I had none, and desired none,
if they were to advise me against my inclinations. My term being now
expired, for I loyally pursued my studies to the bitter end, my mind
was made up, ambition or no ambition, for the Bar or the Stage.
Like most young men, I loved acting, and quite believed I would
succeed. My passion for the stage was encouraged by an old
schoolfellow of my father's when he was at Rugby, for whom I had, as a
boy, a great admiration. I forget whether in after-life I retained it,
for we drifted apart, and our divergent ways continued their course
without our meeting again.
Any worse decision, so far as my friends were concerned, could not be
conceived. They both remonstrated solemnly, and were deeply touched
with what they saw was my impending ruin, especially the ruin of their
hopes. In vain, however, did they attempt to persuade me; my mind was
as fixed as the mind of two-and-twenty can be. Having warned me in
terms of severity, they now addressed me in the language of affection,
and asked how I could be so headstrong and foolish as to attempt the
Bar, at which it was clear that I could only succeed after working
about twenty years as a special pleader.
They next set before me, as a terrible warning, my uncle, another
brother of my father's, who had gone to the Bar, and I will not say
never had any practice, for I believe he practised a good deal on
the Norfolk Broads, and once had a brief at sessions concerning
the irremovability of a pauper, which he conducted much to the
satisfaction of the pauper, although I believe the solicitor never
gave him another brief.
However, our family trio could not go on for ever quarrelling, and
at last they made a compromise with me, much to my satisfaction. My
father undertook to allow me a hundred a year for five years, and
after that time it was to cease automatically, whether I sank or swam,
with this solemn proviso, however, for the soothing of his conscience:
that if I sank _my fate was to be upon my own head_! I agreed also
to that part of the business, and accepting the terms, started for
London.